


To Gather Grapes from Thorns

by Decoder13, DelusionsbyBonnie



Category: Battle for London in the Air (Roleplay)
Genre: Gen, I hear Rome is lovely this time of year, Reveran Rebels AU, ghosts are dramatic, the Luna Trajectory, unfinished business?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decoder13/pseuds/Decoder13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie
Summary: The hagiography of St Benoit Tosi is a matter of some debate among scholars and theologians.  Some suggest that the presence of an opposing spirit in the stories of his life is merely allegorical, while others claim it is a demonic force sent to be the thorn in his flesh.  Only those from his native Revera have any understanding of the reality of the situation.
Kudos: 4





	To Gather Grapes from Thorns

The execution that morning had been a challenging experience. Yes, it had been Benoit’s report to Archbishop Vaens that led directly to Alois de Fiore’s condemnation for fraternizing with an Enemy of the Crown (even if said Enemy was very much dead at the time), but he had still fought beside the man, unrepentant heretic that he was, and there was no repenting for him now. 

Still, after a few hours spent in the peace of Archombra’s chapel, Benoit felt more at ease. He had merely done his duty. The choice to personally behead Alois was made by the Princess herself for political reasons, and those were no longer Benoit’s concern.  _ Especially _ not after he had finally received word that he would be returning to Rome, as he had pleaded for in a letter immediately after returning from the werewolf affair. He fought for the Church, not for any mortal ruler, and there was far too much political intrigue in his birthplace for his liking. His task now was to gather his few belongings and prepare to leave Archombra at dawn.

As Benoit walked down a particularly narrow stone corridor on his way back to his room, the faintest trace of dark smoke began to move with him.

It was hard to even see at first. It blended well into the dark stone and dim candlelight of the windowless hall. But when it darted and swirled through the faint pools of light cast by the flames, it was unmistakably  _ there _ . It moved against the fair draft in the corridor, rather than with it, and kept to the light when it could. 

Then, all at once, the hallway’s candles blew out.

Benoit's hand went to his sword, but he didn’t unsheathe it yet. Archombra was a strange place, and he hadn’t sensed anything evil around. Even so, that was no guarantee there was nothing that meant him harm. “Who’s there? In the name of Our Lord, show yourself.”

Something between a whistle and a laugh echoed down the corridor in response. Half of the candles did flare back to life, though, tall, sickly green fire surging up from the wicks before they settled down into ordinary flames. Only the candles ahead of Benoit had been relit, though, and by the way light shone from the end of the hall, the candles past the end of the hall ahead were out except for those in the passageway that went left - away from Benoit’s room. 

Benoit murmured a prayer to St Michael, loosened his sword in its sheath, and followed the light down the hallway. If this...creature, or spirit, or fiend wanted a confrontation with him, then he would oblige.

As Benoit walked,  _ something _ began to move along the walls. Something thin and dark, like several snakes or vines emerging from the smallest of cracks and slithering forward along with him. If he ever tried to look directly at them, though, they were no longer there. Not until he looked away again.

A low cacophony of whispers started to buzz as Benoit reached the end of the hall and entered the lit passageway to the left. With every step, it got louder.

About halfway down this corridor was a small, plain door. The  _ things _ snaking along the walls in the corners of his vision all seemed to be heading there; they seemed to be flowing out of the hall through the minute gaps around the door frame.

He drew his sword, certain he was walking into a trap of some sort, and nudged the door gently with the swordtip. It refused to budge, which made Benoit feel better, oddly enough. If the source of these illusions meant to lure him into danger, at least it wasn't making it too easy for him. He reached out and turned the latch, pushing the door open enough to bring his sword up before stepping through. 

The door led into a small, neglected courtyard garden. It had been a lovely retreat, once, but now the fountain against the far wall was dry and overgrown. He walked fully into the garden and threw another challenge into the empty air. "Reveal yourself, enemy!"

A sharp breeze rattled around the enclosed courtyard, rustling through the overgrown plants. Before it faded away, the sound of shifting stems and shaking leaves shifted into something eerily similar to a man’s laugh. 

The door behind Benoit slammed shut.

Benoit whirled around, sword raised, only to see the door completely covered in thorny vines. The ends of the tendrils crawled gently into place, almost as if to spite him, but he would not rise to the bait. 

“In the name of Our Lord, I command you to show yourself!” He brandished the sword, poised to strike or defend from an unseen blow. If his last night here was to be spent cleansing one more unholy spirit from this land, so be it.

“ _ You already tried that _ ,” a mocking voice said from beside him. There was no one there, of course, but this time, Benoit just barely glimpsed a dark shape collapsing back into a wisp of that same dark smoke from the hallway. It slithered along the ground to Benoit’s right and into a particularly thick patch of thorns that had thoroughly entangled the now-headless statue of an angel. “ _ But by all means, keep at it. I have  _ **_all the time in the world now_ ** _. _ ”

The voice changed locations abruptly, whispering bitterly into Benoit’s left ear, “ _ I have you to thank for that.” _

Benoit flinched away from the voice, whipping his sword around to face the spot. He knew that was probably a useless response, but his years of combat training had focused more on corporeal threats. "Either begone or face me, spirit! You have no power over me. Speak your grievance against me plainly."

Why had he left the bell in his room? Aside from the obvious answer, that he had not expected to encounter ghosts while praying. He should have known better. This wretched pile of stone was crawling with magic and strangeness, even if he had tried his best to send every apparition he encountered to its rest or final judgement. Obviously, he had missed one.

Something tapped Benoit on the shoulder from behind. Of course there was nothing there but a vine quickly receding back to the wall from which it had stretched out. 

“ _ There’s not much style in speaking plainly, _ ” the same voice as before said from behind Benoit. It paused. “ _ I’m a little insulted that you haven’t already guessed.” _

Sudden recognition flashed across Benoit’s face. “Alois de Fiore, your blood is not on my hands. In the name of Our Lord, show yourself to me.”

To Benoit’s side, framed by the vine-locked door, the figure of Alois de Fiore faded into view. 

In the split second after his appearance, the spirit looked almost pitiful. He was dressed in the long white shirt and coarse brown pants he’d worn as the sword came down across his neck. The shirt was matted to his chest with blood that still looked fresh. A few tendrils of vines studded with thorns and blood red flowers poked up from the stump of his neck. He held his head under his arm. The eyes were faded, sunken, and supremely tired. He looked like he’d aged ten years in a month. There was no more smirk on his lips. 

The severed head blinked its eyes in what might have been surprised.

An instant later, though, Alois’s lips turned up into a malicious grin. “ _ Did you really want a second look so badly,  _ **_Saint Benoit_ ** ?” the severed head asked mockingly. 

Alois gracefully snapped his head back upon his neck, where the flowers and vines seemed to stitch it back into place. Everything about him took on just a little more polish. The blood on his shirt became less of a solid pool of red and more of a dramatic spatter. The cut and fabric of his clothes became just a little finer. His eyes shifted to a menacing red, and his face and figure changed ever so slightly - back to something more like the handsome young man Benoit had fought beside at Orlon.

“ _ Hiding in a corner when the sword came down didn’t absolve you of anything _ ,” he said, that cruel grin still on his face. All the plants in the garden seemed to shift just a little in their places, grow just a little darker, die just a little more. The courtyard was suddenly, unseasonably cold.

Benoit sheathed his sword and stifled a shiver at the cold wind that caressed the back of his neck. “I did not choose this fate for you, Alois. Why do you blame me instead of the mortal authorities whom you angered? I fought beside you. I shielded you in battle. I only told the truth.”

“ _ You didn’t choose this fate for me? _ ” Alois echoed. “ **_You didn’t choose this fate for me?_ ** ” Any wildflowers remaining in the courtyard curled into shriveled gray skeletons of themselves, and his grin collapsed.

“ _ When did I ever hurt you? When did I do anything worse than laugh at you? That’s a bit short of serving you to your enemies on a silver platter with a light side of purported treason. _ ” Alois’s entire form quivered with anger, the edges of his outline flaring and blurring as he spoke. “ _ I thought about betraying you, you know. Back at Orlon. I could understand someone like Guillemot de Malot. I could have turned on all of you, and whatever joke you thought I was, you wouldn’t have found it funny. _ ”

He paused, shaking his head as if to deny something, or to force something out. The vines attaching his head to his body shifted.

“ _ But I didn’t _ ,” Alois continued. “ _ I didn’t. And part of why I didn’t was because I knew you hated me, but every blow that came my way, I saw you step between it and me. Maybe the first person not to leave me to die when a golden opportunity arose _ .  _ The Verossis are what they are; I knew what they’d do if I slipped. But you? _ ”

Alois scoffed. “ _ You  _ **_chose_ ** _ to tell. No one else there would have. Do you understand? You are a very stupid man if you didn’t know what a report like that would mean to Elio Vaens, or where it would go, or where  _ **_I_ ** _ would go _ .“ For a moment, Alois again appeared as the gaunt shell of a man wearing coarse, ragged clothes who’d been beheaded that morning. The one who, when asked to repent before God and his fellow man, had simply replied, ‘I‘m too tired.’

But then he was standing tall and proud and shaking with rage again, eyes burning red, looking every bit like the sort of monster a man like Benoit ought to kill. “ _ If anyone was ever going to prove to me that faith was worth something, I thought it was going to be you. But no. I should have just run off with a fellow  _ **_monster_ ** _ when I had the chance.” _

Benoit’s shoulders sagged. “Alois, I… I only did what I thought was right. I spoke in your defense. I told them that you fought with us. And for what it’s worth, I’m leaving here. I will not stay here and serve these people.”

Alois scoffed. “ _ Of course you spoke in my defense,  _ **_after_ ** _ you slammed my head down on the executioner’s block. You couldn’t have  _ **_anyone else_ ** _ thinking you were anything less than an angel. I can understand a move like  _ **_that_ ** _. I sorely overestimated how different you were.” _ He clenched his fists and muttered something under his breath. The vines over the door expanded outwards and upwards and downwards, all along that wall and along every other wall of the courtyard, till the man and the ghost stood in the center of a solid ring of thorns. “ _ By all means, try to leave here. See if you can. And _ **_if_ ** _ you can, see what that buys you.” _

His eyes wandered away from Benoit and instead wandered over the wall of thorns he had created. “ _ I  _ **_hated_ ** _ plants _ ,” he said quietly. His tone was almost… sad.

“Do you think I defended you for  _ myself _ ?” Benoit demanded. “Do you truly think I would plead for mercy for my  _ own _ reputation? I am not so arrogant as you, and I have no wish to try my strength against yours.” He folded his arms and gazed steadily at the ghost, ignoring the encroaching vines. They were probably no match for his sword, but he was unarmored, and if Alois could summon them faster than he could chop… No, he would rather talk. Perhaps he could change Alois’ mind.

The vines circled closer, inch by inch, as Benoit spoke. But, a moment after he folded his arms they... stopped. 

“ _ Then tell me  _ **_why_ ** ,” Alois said simply. His eyes locked back on Benoit’s. “ _ I’m intrigued now. Why ask for mercy for me, after you put me beyond it? _ ” There was a peculiar sort of sincerity in his voice as he spoke, but it was gone by the time he added, “ _ If you won’t even fight, the  _ **_least_ ** _ you can do is give me a show. So  _ **_tell me why_ ** _. _ ”

Benoit exhaled softly in relief as the thorns stilled. “Because whatever your… proclivities, you have done nothing deserving death. The Marrivega ghost was no threat to the Verossi throne. It was my duty to give a full and truthful report, but it was my intent that the ring would be taken and destroyed as the host of an unholy spirit, not that you should die for having it. A dead man cannot repent.”

Alois stared intently at him. “ _ You believe that _ ,” he said quietly. “ _ You  _ **_really_ ** _ believe that. _ ” He thought for a moment. “ _ I probably did deserve death for one thing or another _ ,” he eventually sighed, “ _ if that soothes your  _ **_poor_ ** _ aching soul a bit. Not that I wanted it. But at least it would have felt fair, and not just like…like when… _ ” Alois trailed off. The circling vines didn’t recede an inch, but the thorns began to retract back into them.

“ _ You know, you’re getting  _ **_very_ ** _ close to convincing me that you’re truly stupid enough to believe that people end up on thrones because they’re committed to justice. _ ” He shook his head again, more gently this time, and made a very deliberate point of chuckling bitterly. “ _ You wouldn’t have wanted to destroy the ring anyhow. It wouldn’t have hurt him. He’d just be free. Not that you’d know a thing like that. _ ” Alois smiled slightly, mostly to himself. “ _ At least no one else is going to find it for a very,  _ **_very_ ** _ long time _ .”

“I’m going back to Rome. Do you want me to take it?” Even if destroying the ring wouldn’t help, putting it in a vault in the Eternal City would surely be better than leaving it here, hidden away in whatever rathole Alois might have found. It wouldn’t be the first dangerous artifact he had helped remove from the world.

Alois’s eyes narrowed. “ _You don’t get to change the subject. I see why you mentioned the ring now.”_ The thorns grew out of the vines again, though at least the vines didn’t resume moving. “ _It doesn’t belong in Rome._ _And it doesn’t belong with you_.” He considered for a moment. “ _So is_ ** _that_** _why you wanted me dead?”_

“Sancta Maria! For the fifth time in this conversation, I did not want you dead. Keep the damned ring.” Benoit threw up his hands, narrowly missing the thorns. “I wish you the joy of it. You are not the first man to call me a fool, nor will you be the last. I know full well the most righteous man is least likely to rule, but I may hope that the respect and authority of my position as a representative of the Church may weight the balance.”

Alois cracked a bit of a smile at Benoit’s obvious frustration. But, by the time the living man was done speaking, Alois’s amusement had faded into something a bit more contemplative. “ _You don’t want it where you are_ ,” he said, his voice a little less pointed. “ _No, I’m leaving it with the Verossis._ **_They_** _deserve it. But you… you really are_ ** _trying_** _, aren’t you?_ ” He raised one eyebrow. “ _It’s very frustrating that you keep making sense! I need_ ** _something to blame_** _, damn it, and everyone else here is just a… force of nature. But you… feel like a_ ** _person_** _who made a_ ** _choice_** _, and I still can’t see_ ** _why_** _, and I’m still_ ** _dead_** _.”_

He lifted one hand, and the vines all seemed to tense for a moment, like a giant clenched fist. But then they retreated back at least enough to give Benoit some room to safely wave his arms, should he do so again. “ _ I never  _ **_did_ ** _ get around to telling you why I hated plants back in Orlon, did I? _ ”

"No. You didn't. We…were a little preoccupied with the werewolf. I will listen if you wish to tell me now." The sudden changes in mood were difficult to keep up with, but Benoit was grateful at least for the current, more contemplative turn.

Alois stared hard at him for a few moments. “ _ I was in the military when I was younger. An archer. You’re hardly Reveran anymore. Take that however you want. But I’ve been here all along. Fought in the war - for the king, of course. His wife had been a cousin. A distant cousin, but still. I wouldn’t embarrass anyone if I went into the military, as long as I didn’t run off. It was right to serve the king, because God and right and power are with the king. _ ”

He looked off to the side intently, his eyes moving like he was following something with them. It was as if he saw something playing out through the vines he’d caged them in with. “ _ Except the king… the king knew he’d lost a year before he was defeated. He kept us out there all that time. Threw us at anything he thought might cause damage. There was… a ruin, outside of Arvilla. We were supposed to set an ambush for some revolutionaries there.”  _ He looked back to Benoit. “ _ One of my brothers was  _ **_quite_ ** _ religious. Promised he’d become a priest if he survived all this. We served together. Oh, we bickered about… everything, but then again, we knew we it was safe with each other. He taught me how to read music, and how to mend a good coat I snagged on a tree. He didn’t mind me the way everyone else did. He was… probably my best friend, if I ever had one.” _

“ _But it was a trap,”_ he continued. “ _The whole ruin was a trap._ _Not just for the enemy. For the town. And for_ ** _us._** _As soon as_ ** _one drop_** _of blood was spilled on the vines that encased the stone...”_ Alois’s sentence fell off again. “ _Men ran. They didn’t make it. Men raised weapons. They didn’t make it. My brother prayed - knelt and prayed and looked so_ ** _serene._** _He… didn’t make it either. And we all_ ** _knew_** _, right at the end. We all knew that the king knew. And I… lived? They tried to rip me apart. I was just staring. I couldn’t decide to save myself or my brother. So I took too long. I lost both, but I was the one who made it. The_ ** _only_** _one.”_

Alois shrugged, that deep exhaustion creeping into his gestures again. “ _ The world got a lot less kind after that, and a lot more simple. No one who cares has enough power to. No one without power is safe enough to care about. Having power is safest, and it’s still not safe. Stay alive and, whatever you choose to wear, make it something that won’t show when you bleed. And I never…  _ **_stopped_ ** _ feeling like I was being choked by those vines. From the inside out. _ ” Then, with a sudden surge of energy, Alois lifted himself up on his toes and, as he had so often at Orlon, assumed the graceful, intensely dramatic pose of a master showman. “ _ But ah, I made it look good! I made it another four years, I did everything for myself, and I made it all look  _ **_so good_ ** _.”  _ He collapsed abruptly back to standing firmly on the ground, such as he could. “ _ And then Orlon happened.”  _ The vines shuddered hideously, but they didn’t move any closer.

“And then Orlon happened,” Benoit repeated numbly. The weight of Alois’ words gripped his chest like the encircling vines. “And I… betrayed your trust.” The confession was hard to choke out, harder than admitting any sin. “I hope your brother is in Heaven now.”

Alois looked... stunned, almost. He blinked again. “ _ You did. I... wasn’t expecting you to just... say it. But I began to trust someone, and you immediately proved that I was wrong. _ ” 

The sense of shock faded. His red eyes burned. “ _ I’m furious that even thinking about being better than this set me right up to get killed _ ,” he snarled. The vines surged towards Benoit, creating a barrier between him and Alois and leaving less than an inch between him and the thorns on all sides.

“ _ I hope my brother’s not in heaven _ .” Alois’s voice had the vocal quality of a whisper, but it sounded like it was right in each of Benoit’s ears. “ _ I hope he’s happy, but I hope he’s not in heaven, because if he is, I’ll never see him again. You said it yourself,  _ **_Saint Benoit_ ** _. _ ” The apparition turned his back on the paladin. But, from the way his voice began to shake, it was unclear whether he meant to seal some rejection, or to hide some emotion he didn’t want Benoit to see in his face. “ _ The dead cannot repent. And you served me up to die.  _ **_What point is there in me showing you any mercy now?_ ** ”

In the silence after the question, the thorns stayed perfectly still.

“I didn’t mean for you to die,” Benoit whispered. “God help me, I didn’t want that to happen.” His head sagged forward, thorns catching in his hair. “I have no right to ask for your mercy.”

The thorns caught in Benoit’s hair drew back, as if shocked. “You’re… not going to beg?” Alois asked quietly. “You’re not going to fight?”

“No. Not now. I do not expect you to give it, but I need to beg your pardon. I am sorry, Alois. I wronged you.”

For a moment, the entire courtyard was wholly, unnaturally silent, and impossibly still.

Then Alois turned back around to face Benoit. The vines snaked around and through him; he passed through them like air as he stepped closer to the living man who would not fight anymore. Alois’s red eyes focused sharply on his face, as if they were searching intently for something specific.

“ _ I…  _ **_can’t_ ** .” Alois opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, but closed it again before any sound came out. He stayed silent for another moment. “I can’t,” he repeated.

All at once, the vines, the thorns, the chill in the air - all of it was instantly gone. Even the vines that had sealed the door in place. Only Alois remained. “I can’t forgive you,” he said. “And I can’t kill you.”

Benoit raised his head to meet the ghost’s gaze. “I accept that. I would ask one thing of you, though. Will you talk with me again?”

Alois raised an eyebrow. “I was going to do that anyway,” he replied almost flippantly. Something about his demeanor and voice had settled back more into what Benoit had seen at Orlon. Whether that was a good thing or not could be argued either way. “You break it, you keep it, Saint Benoit.” He smoothed back his hair and flashed a grin before turning away again. “I do hear that Rome is  _ lovely  _ this time of year,” he added, his voice already fading as if into the distance.

With that, the apparition walked through the dry, shattered fountain and was gone.

Benoit took a long, deliberate breath and let it out slowly. Maybe it was a good thing that the banishing bell was still packed away in his quarters. He felt… tired, after that conversation, but somehow purged and redeemed. He did, however, have a lot more to pray about. Perhaps he should spend a little more time in the chapel tonight.


End file.
